Scottish, Right?
by ALostWinchester
Summary: Bones is a red head with dread locks, two chunks shaved out of either side of her head, one pierced lip, eyebrow, nose and two black pugs in her ears, who has been transplanted from Scotland to America in search of Uncle Chibs for a place to lie low. The Sons of Anarchy provide a reluctant family for her whom she slowly becomes more and more intertwined in as time goes on
1. Chapter 1

"Steak pie. What the fuck is in your ears, Hen? I want a fucking steak pie." I said slowly. And controlled. And over again.

"I'm really sorry but could you just write it down?" the dumb waitress asked again. I once had dyed blonde hair, but at least I had the dignity to give some brains to the colour; this bitch was living up to Dumb American Blonde with her idiocy, long legs and perky tits.

"Maybe I can help," he said quietly and I watched and waited to be amazed he explained politely to her, "She's asking for the steak pie."

"Oh!" the waitress smiled dazzlingly, "Right. I'll just get that for you."

She wasn't looking at me, she was looking at him: with his blond hair tucked behind his ears and in need of a wash, broad shoulders sporting a blue tartan shirt and a black leather vest-jacket. I was finding 98% of all fucking Americans looked and acted ridiculous.

"Oi!" I barked at her. She stopped walking to the kitchen and turned without a smile at me, "And a drink wouldnae go amiss."

"What?"

"A coke, love." I abbreviated for her.

"She wants a coke." he provided.

"Wit a fuckin' tit." I commented, "And how the fuck do _your_ ears work?" I asked him, a little on the aggressive side.

"I recognise the accent. Scottish, right?" he said.  
"Aye." I smiled, at last someone with something akin to brains. "Have a seat, I'll buy you a pint: I'd love to actually have a conversation with someone."

He looked me up and down, out the window and back to me again. I've not much to say for my appearance: I'm a red head with long dread locks to my waist but for two chunks shaved out of either side of my head, one pierced lip, eyebrow, nose and two black pugs in my ears that really help define the paleness of my skin, I'm a little boney around the legs and wrists but no one calls me skinny with my natural (believe it) G's and gravity defying ass (not to the extreme I'll add). I wore a longsleeve black top that day with only feathers on the print at front and a pair of skinny jeans under my thigh high brown boots.

"If you're looking for sex," I added, "Don't count on it." I promised with a grin. What can I say, I can't keep a straight face at the idea people want to fuck me. Only in America did I let that happen, and that's only because I blew my every dollar and needed to convince people (yes, men and women) to give me a ride or somewhere to sleep and shower. He sat down with a grin and asked,

"What's your name?"

"I don't like they way you Americans pronounce it." I said instead.

"So what do I call you?"

"What do I call you?"

"Jax."

I reached my hand a across the table for him to shake which he did as I supplied, "Call me Bones."

"Bones?" he looked like he might chuckle. I didn't crack a smile.

"Get used to it."

The waitress returned, "What can I get you sir?"

He ordered beer, but that bottled shite everyone drinks in America. It's probably just as well, because the heads on the pints I had had were gash.

"What brings you to America?" He asked politely, watching her go.

"Family. Who do you know that's from my neck of the woods?"

"Just a friend. What about family brings you here?"

Curious bugger he was, "My mum handed me a stack of dollars and a one way ticket on a plane. I didn't argue: it's the most she's ever given me."

"So you're out here in a diner in the middle of nowhere?"

"Yeah well, I pissed the cash away having a good time for a couple of weeks... Party's over."

My food came.

"I'll leave you to your dinner." he excused himself and I waved, thanking him again for playing translator. As he walked, I studied the back of the leather jacket: son of a bitch was part of the same motorcycle club my goddamn uncle was. I ran out before he could get on his bike.

"You're SAMCRO." I said as I slowed behind him. He paused buckling his helmet, turned and pointed to a patch on the side of his jacket,

"That's what the patch says." he said derisively.

"I mean, er, my family is SAMCRO - the family I'm here for. In fact, your Scottish friend is probably who I'm looking for."

He swung his leg over his black beast of a bike, settled, and then slouched back on the bike and folded his arms. "Is that so?"

"We called him Chibs."

Recognition darkened his features, "Does he know you're looking for him?"

"Hell no," I scoffed, "Can I get I get a lift or not?"

"A lift?"

"You know, a 'ride'?" I impersonated the accent well.

"What about your dinner?"

"I need family not food, asshole."

He chewed his lip.

"I can offer sexual favours but I'm sort of tired of them. You'd be in for a half hearted experience."

That made him smirk as he held out a spare helmet. "Forget it. You can hop on, Bones."

I climbed on and managed not to be clumsy about it. I tightened the helmet.

"Hold on tight." he said and I could hear the grin. I leaned in, aware of my breasts pressed into his back and my legs spread wide behind him: I had been a slut of late but it's not how I liked to present myself. Still, I soon forgot about my insecurities as we tore up the highway.


	2. Chapter 2

We got to a garage called the Teller Morrow and I was giddy from the motorcycle ride.

"How the fuck do I get my hands on one of those?" I commanded as I got off the grumbling two-wheeled monster. Jax smiled as he accepted his second helmet back and asked,

"How long are you planning on sticking around, darlin'?"

My face and all humour dropped, "You know my name, sweetheart so fuckin' use it."

"Whose this?" a woman asked, a little on the aged side but hot none the less, with dark eyes, smokey make-up, dark hair and wild blonde streaks. If I were a lesbian, I'd be in love.

"Mom, this is Bones. She's looking for Chibs. Bones this is my mom, Gemma."

She sized me up so I did the same.

"We can play twenty questions over a beer if you like?" I suggested after a beat too long of silence, "I'm on the poor side though so the drinks would be on you."

"What do you want with Chibs?" she asked and it felt like a threat.

"He's family."

She looked over my shoulder and I turned to see two motorcycles like Jacks's headed my way and she said, "Thats him now, why don't you wait in the bar?"

"Come on." Jacks' commanded and I followed, a little awe struck by the bikes, and a little embarrassed for him for his swagger. Seriously, who drops when they walk? I followed him into a typical club's bar and let myself in behind the counter.

"Hey - you can't..." Jacks' began but I interrupted as I peered at the collection of bottles and brands,

"Relax, you can't get a good look at the stock from your side of the bar."

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Chibs shouted after he entered the bar, paused to be sure it was me, and caught my eye.

"Nice to see you too, Uncle." I smiled as though I wasn't being sarcastic and he wasn't giving me seriously angry vibes.

"When did you get stateside?" he demanded. As he approached, I got out from behind the bar,

"How long does it take to drink a stack of American currency?"

"Does your maw know where you are?"

"She sent me."

"Fuck."

He leaned on the pool table and I took a stool at the bar.

"You know," Jax provided, "For family you ain't too pleased to see each other."

"I'm happy to see you." I assured my uncle as though he was not cursing my presence.

"What the fuck did you do?" he spat and all eyes were on me. I took a deep, calming breath in the guise of a sigh and explained,

"Some joyriding, some drinking, some assaulting... you know, harmless stuff."

"Doesn't sound harmless to me." A grumpy, tall, young bearded fellow added. Arms folded, standing like a feature on the wall behind the pool table, like the other two. One guy with crazy eyes above high cheek bones and dark curly hair watched as intimately as the one who spoke, and his shorter, stouter, more beer-bellied friend with what looked like a grey perm tied back.

"Nobody died." I pointed out.

"Club meeting." my uncle barked, "Right. Fucking. Now."

I played pool with myself and paid attention to the sounds from the room all the bikers had piled into. My uncle's voice sounded the most distressed. Twenty minutes of discussion later I stood in front of a tall, broad man with an almighty chin and silver hair by the pool table.

"Your uncle thinks you'd make a good," he paused, "loyal," he paused, "barmaid in here. Think you can handle getting hit on by everything that walks into this place?"

"What the fuck would they hit on me for? I've got too many holes in my face."

"Bones." my uncle cautioned from beyond.

"My legs are crossed and a job's a job, right?" I said to the almighty chin.

"Half-sack," he called, leaving me by the pool table, "looks like you've got yourself an extra pair of hands around here."

I had put the pool cue down long ago because my hands shook. That guy was a threat - friend or not - and he meant business. I didn't want him to see me afraid. The men filed out save one. His jacket, unlike the rest, read 'prospect' at the back. He smiled sweetly and advised me to hang out until someone came in for a drink.

I tried to work out where I was going to stay.

"You'll stay with me, kid, for now." uncle Chib promised after his first pint. Men always feel most relaxed after their first pint. It had been four hours since my arrival and Prospect didn't seem so knowledgable so I kept all my questions internalised. My uncle gave me a place to sleep on his own initiative, thank God.

"And then?" I prompted, passing him another pint. The heads on my beers were perfect. He looked appreciatively at the full glass as I leaned my elbows on the bar.

"I can't get a hold of your ma'. I have tae assume this is a permanent thing." he sighed unconsciously, "You'll stay with me until we find somewhere else you can stay."

"Worried I'll fuck with your style?" I joked. He didn't look like it was funny, in fact he looked pretty serious and he leaned in closely to say in hushed tones,

"This isn't just a motorcycle club. This is a family and you don't want to be in it. This isn't Scotland in the suburbs, this is serious shit you can't handle. When I say being here, associated with me, is dangerous, I fucking mean it."

He leaned back and I looked to the wall that sported framed mug shots of everyone I had already met and then some. I pointed to it casually.

"I'm not a fucking idiot." I told him, being honest and vulnerable and annoyed for the first time in front of anyone since I hit America, "But I haven't got anyone else to go to."

With that I walked out, slamming my palms against the door frame, making a loud exit, and storming in a direction, all I knew, lead away from uncle Chibs.

I was only gone for half an hour, and when I got back Chib wasn't at the bar so I was content to go back behind it and serve the added volume of customers - not that there were many more. Prospect leaned on the back-bar next to me.

"Are you okay?" he asked kindly. I smiled, relaxed from my walk and challenged him,

"Do you really want to know?"

"Try me." he smiled sympathetically so I did,

"I've only got my mum and my uncle in my life - my mum didn't want me anymore so she sent me here, right where my uncle doesn't want me, and now I haven't got the means or the money to fuck off and leave him alone and put the idea of family behind me. Do you know what it's like to feel unwelcome, Half-Sack?"

"Its -" he started to introduce his self so I interrupted with a sweet smile,

"Stick to nicknames."

Although I thought it was sweet, I was running low on energy. It was written all over my face and he nodded sympathetically.

"Want to know why they call me Half-Sack?"

"I can make a good guess." I laughed and rose off the back bar to collect empty glasses.


	3. Chapter 3

"You seem to have settled right in." Clay told me as he took a seat at the bar. I had been hanging around for a couple of weeks, finding my feet and getting to learn how to slow down when I talked to the locals and alter some words so they understood me. I was getting familiar with regular faces through the doors, but names were still essentially lost on me.

"It's not my first job behind a bar. Or my second." I said, opening the cap of the beer bottle he ordered.

"Do you have a lot of biker bars in Scotland?"

I hate they way American's pronounce Scotland.

"Maybe I wouldn't have gotten into so much trouble if there _were_ any biker bars in Scotland." I replied smiling with laughter at the thought.

"They're all for show though, aren't they?" he said, leaning into the swig of his beer before he took it.

"Isn't this place?" I said significantly.

"Smart girl." But it didn't feel like a compliment. "Smart girls get stupid real quick, though, if they don't mind their own business."

"Legs crossed, job's a job, and I will mind my own, Boss-man."

He smiled, "You might just survive your time spent here."

"Not in my uncle's house," I spluttered before I could catch the thought leaving my mouth, "he's going to kill me if he has to share much longer." I walked away to serve and shrugged my shoulders as I called over to Clay-the-Almighty-Jaw, "Not much else I can do about it though besides looking, right?"

It was a Thursday so the place wasn't as busy as a Friday or Saturday, but it was constant enough to keep Half-Sack, Juice and myself occupied throughout the bar. It was getting late, the guys were a little rowdy but nothing sinister, and my first ass-slap in the bar happened.

I got rid of the glass and the bottles I had in my tray.

I took the tray with me.

I got real close to the middle aged dick-head who was arrogant enough to touch me.

The tray made a nice tinny 'pow' against his face.

I tossed it onto his table without spilling the drinks, snatched his jaw with my left hand in case I needed my trusty right, and took advantage of the sudden silence,

"Do you want to slap me now, asshole?"

Nothing. I grabbed the tray, let go of his face and walked back to the bar. Clay started the laughter and since he was boss, it rippled and the drama was over. I didn't know that though, I still felt angry as Hell and was suddenly hit by the gravity of my reaction to what some might consider a harmless ass-slap. Clay called me over and I readied myself for some pain.

"Bones…" he looked to his comrades around him to contemplate, "now what kind of a name is that?"

"I don't like the way you Americans pronounce my name, that's all."

"Do you have something against my accent?" he challenged me softly.

"Only when you say my name." I smiled.

"Well I wouldn't want you smacking my head with a tray." he said, choking on his laughter as he did. Uncle Chibs looked pissed at me. The other two, scary-eyes Tigg and surprisingly-scarier eyes Happy were just recovering from their laughter.

"Jax!" Clay called and Jax soon appeared. I wondered why. Was I free to go now? I turned but Clay told me to hang on, "Now Chibs, living with your niece is driving you crazy, am I right?"

"Aye." he responded while looking at me with no humour at all.

"And Jax," Clay continued, "You have a house."

"Yeah?" Jax confirmed, watching Clay carefully.

"So why doesn't Bones take that room of yours through the back?"

"Got a lot of memories in there." Jax said conversationally, and the men around him started patting his shoulder and quietly cheering. "I guess it's somebody else's turn to make some memories." he turned to me, "That's if she wants to." and winked.

"I'll pay rent," I started but Clay shook his head,

"That's a-ight. I just won't give a you a raise for working in here, hows that sound?"

I looked to Jax who kindly nodded and confirmed, "It's yours."

"Thank Christ." uncle Chibs said and I tried not to look like that hurt. I wasn't a bad house guest: I stayed out of his way and cleaned up any evidence I existed alongside him. He caught up with me as I took the empty bottles box to the bins out the back.

"Bones." he called as he rounded the corner after me. I didn't turn around as I called over my shoulder,

"You can call me my birth name if you like, you don't make it sound like some impression of a gangster movie."

"You never know who's listening here." he said seriously. I smiled, taking it less seriously.

"Good to know." I dumped the glass and cringed at the noise. He stood a foot or so before me to say,

"Look, Bones, it's not that I don't like you staying with me -"

"You could of fooled me." I interrupted but he barely noticed,

"It's the pressure, pal. I'm not a model citizen and having you under my roof is as bad as putting a target on your back. Staying here isn't much better but at least in those walls you've got some protection."

He opened his arms and I hesitated before accepting that hug. Not because I didn't want it, because if I hadn't hesitated I would have been a sobbing wreck as soon as I got my arms around him.

"I love you kid. Just promise me you'll keep your head down in there and stay out of trouble."


	4. Chapter 4

It's important to note what separates me from what I have learned are called 'CRO-Eaters' and 'Old-Ladies': I'm not in that bar to slut myself around or get myself a husband. All the Old Ladies dress to show other men what they missed out on and what they sure as hell aren't getting near. All the CRO Eaters dress to show all the men that they are ripe for the picking. Me? I'm never out of shapeless jeans, a silver studded belt and chain, old and worn within an inch of their life running shoes, and black t-shirts sporting band logos. I haven't got a lot of money, so I haven't got much of a wardrobe, so I don't get much attention.

The one time I let down my locks and slapped on some make-up (just foundation and some fucking eye liner, by the way) was for a Sons of Anarchy party. Don't ask me what it was for, there is so much going on in that place, I cross lines of information and am never sure of the whole truth. That kind of misinformation can drive you nuts.

In Scotland I was never pretty until people saw me outside of school. As I've said, my ass is something special and my boobs are naturally this big: which is exactly why I try to hide them. The holes in my face? Designed as a turn-off. I can't handle attention like girls who are pretty their whole lives can. I live to be forgettable to the opposite sex but I guess making an effort makes a big difference...

"Come out from behind the bar," Jax said again, "let me buy you a drink. Relax! Have some fun! No one cares if you serve and drink at the same time."

I poured a shot of Jager, walked around the bar, took it, set the glass down, and left Jax and his wondering hands so I could collect glass. Nobody slapped my ass but I ran back behind the bar and stood next to Juice to say,

"Nope. I'm not going back out there. Fuck that. I live behind the bar tonight. You and Halfsack can get glass in."

He just chuckled. "Relax, baby,"

Any of my good-natured fear was gone. "Don't call me baby." but he talked over me,

"It's a party, let your hair down." he walked past me to serve and then join the party for a bit. I thought about what he said.

And tied my hair up.

Jax was still at it: trying to clamber on me. It wasn't funny any more and I didn't like that he thought I was blind. The guy was a mess; as far as I had gathered he was still married, had a newborn and was drowning his sorrows in pussy. So I cut him off telling me what I was missing to say,

"Jax, Jax, Jax," I repeated sweetly until he stopped trying talk over me, "it's not happening, okay? Now go and harass someone else."

"I'm not harassing you."

"No?" He looked insulted so I kept going, "You can have any girl in here, and just look at them, you're wasting precious time over here. Do you know why? Because I'm the only thing you _can't_ have. You can't change that so stop chasing it. Now fuck off out of my face."

He did but he resented every second of it. Gemma was suddenly before me as I turned around, her hand on one hip the other on the bar. That woman is all attitude.

"What's wrong with my son?" she demanded.

"His libido." I answered matter of factly and walked around her. She turned, following my trajectory but never leaving the space she had claimed.

"You'd be lucky to have him, you know."

"And then you'd be after me with your claws." I smiled, amused by the image of Gemma flashing claws at the ends of her arms.

"Meow." she said with her jaw hanging open. Like I said, all attitude. I walked up to Gemma, kept a friendly distance between us and leaned on the bar with my ams crossed. "Jax is fine, Gemma, but that doesn't mean I have to be interested in a one night stand."

"Are you looking for a relationship, honey?" she said sardonically, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I'm not looking for a god damn thing." I spat, more aggressively than I had meant to, "Is that so hard for everybody in here to understand?"

"Beside your accent? No." She turned to the Jager bottle, poured two shots and took one in each hand, passed one to me. "Drink's on me." she smiled and we took a shot together. I felt better without being on Gemma's hit list.

The next morning Half-Sack and I were cleaning up around the unconscious bodies. Jax appeared.

"My mom says I owe you an apology." he announced sheepishly as he approached me. Hands in his pockets he waited for me to stop cleaning.

"Is that it? Have you apologised?"

He took a hand out of his pocket and held it out to me to shake. I took it and got back to fighting the sticky residue of shots out of the table I was at.

"But just out of curiosity," Jax started, "what made you say no?"

I'd played this scenario in my head already and how often do you get to actually act out your fantasies?

I pulled out a chair and indicated he sit. I walked around him to face him and pulled off my shirt as I would in my own room. Nobody in Charming had seen me undress and Jax adjusted his slouch. I placed both legs over his, straddling him and held onto the back of the chair. His hands rested on my hips, he looked at me expectantly and internally I rolled my eyes. I was loving every second of this. I leaned to his ear and said in my most sultriest of manners,

"I get more kicks out of saying no."

With that I got up, picked up my top, slung it over my shoulder and paid Jax and Half-Sack no mind as I collected some nearby bottles and took them to the bar where I redressed. I got on with my work feeling perfectly smug.


	5. Chapter 5

Time passes slowly in Charming. It had been a slow shift and with the bar clean, I needed a break from the tedium. To my room I went, and uncle Chibs was just leaving it. We were having a good time together, better than I expected. Last I saw him I was still an awkward teenager and it was nice to feel like an adult, equal in the grounds of alcohol consumption with him. I relaxed when he was nearby and I felt connected in a way I just couldn't remember feeling in life.

"Letter for you from home," he explained as he approached, "I reckon it'll be from your mum. I left it on the bed."

"Thanks."

He patted my shoulder casually as we walked past each other.

I turned the letter over in my hands a few times before opening it. It wasn't even a full page, but it had felt heavy enough to be a few.

 _To my daughter,_

 _To quote a lot of movies and television I couldn't make you stop watching, if you're reading this I'm dead. Please cry. When I handed you that ticket to America and those dollar bills, I said a lot of things to make you leave. I'm drowning in so much debt that I can't pass on to you when I die so I made you go and if I know you at all you'll use that stupid last name you love so much to anybody who asks. Who the fuck is Bones Winchester? My fucking daughter, thats who. Despite our ability to make any one conversation into a fight, I'm proud of you and I love you. When you remember me in hate remember what I just wrote now. Please._

 _I also have to ask for your forgiveness. A lot of the things I've said to you over the years haven't made a lot of sense and why should they? They were said to support a lie. If I wasn't dying I would probably be happy to take this secret to my grave but this truth, since the doctor's said there was nothing more they could do, has haunted me. I understand your pain now and I'm sorry for it. I thought I was doing the right thing. Your uncle is your father. You know who._

 _Goodbye._

How can I describe what happened to me as I read it? At first I was inconsolable. To know she sent me away not out of rejection but to save me from her mistakes… What she did _to_ me was _for_ me and I wanted a way to make up for months of hating her. And then there was the ending. I surpassed anger.

"We need to talk." I managed to say to Chibs as I opened the door on their club meeting.

"What the hell is this?" Clay demanded but I was too mad to be afraid.

"Right. Now." I said to Chibs. They all looked between he and I and it took him a minute to gather just how pissed off I was. He got up and I walked outside the bar.

"Bones, what the fuck -"

I hit him. Turned around and punched him in the face. I didn't wait for him to recover I did it again and again and when he hit the ground, I was pulled several paces back by bikers.

"What is your problem?" Clay hissed at me with his finger in my face.

"Clay, leave her alone I'll deal with it." my uncle called.

"Don't let her go." Clay instructed my restraints. Then he walked off to watch with every other onlooker. They were all there and a small part of me was embarrassed but it was secondary in the hierarchy of my rage. Chibs approached. I'd made him bloody but he could have fought back: I didn't have the strength to do any real damage.

"What difference does it make?" he asked me. He knew. He fucking knew exactly what was going on.

"I idolised you!" I shrieked, throwing myself forward in the vain hope of being let go. "I thought you were the hero in my life and you were the bad guy? The absent fucking father!"

"What difference," he hissed, "would it have made?"

"I wouldn't be who I fucking am! Where I fucking am! Having said nothing but hateful poison to my mum before she died!"

His face told me he didn't know she was dead. "I'm sorry for your loss." he managed before he turned and left and I couldn't stop feeling sympathy as he walked away. He was distraught. The mother of his child was dead and he clearly cared about that.

"Shit." I sighed to myself, sagging into my retainers.

"Let her go."

It was Jax voice. I was released and I found myself sitting on the floor like a child.

"Bones, your hand is fucked." Jax told me simply as he crouched in front of me. I looked down and my hand was a riot. Bloody and swollen and trembling. I hadn't noticed the pain until then.

"Shit." I said as I brought it to my chest.

"Come on." he said, hand on my elbow leading me behind the bar for an icepack.

Clay stopped us in our tracks to stick his finger in my face again, "If you ever burst through that door again during a meeting," he cautioned me, "You're on you own. No job, no family, jack shit."

I held in the tears and kept walking. I headed straight to my room as soon as Jax tied up the ice bag, he didn't see me go, and I sat against the door to cry. He banged the door to be permitted entry but I ignored it. I fell asleep against that door.

I woke up and my uncle was in a chair by my bed. I mean my father…

I'd crawled into my sheets during the night, after falling asleep on the floor and waking up to complete darkness and silence. No matter what turmoil I'm in, the stillness of the night always soothes me. I wanted to go back to that hour as he turned to me with a sad smile and although I couldn't smile back I did manage to croak out,

"Thanks for not hitting me back."

"I deserved it."

I sat up, legs over the edge, covers cast aside and I put my head in my hands. He passed me an envelope. I opened it and there were old photographs inside. He and my mum. A good handful of them before I was born, completely in love. Then there were some from my earliest years. He was holding me as a baby, sporting a new looking leather jacket with the tag 'prospect'.

"I'd have been a good father but I would not have given up SAMCRO." he said. "Your mum wouldn't move to America so we called it a day on having a family. I was the uncle who showed up every few years when he could."

"Where were you the last ten?"

"We had a falling out."

"I had a lot of those with her."

"Yeah. Stealing cars, drinking and driving, drinking in public, and a handful of assault charges. I'm sure you had plenty of fall outs."

"Like father like daughter."

"Sometimes I think you should have been a boy."

"Would you have brought me here into all this with you then?"

"This isn't a gender issue."

"You're right. This is an issue where I spent my life thinking my mum was the bad guy and it turns out you were. You kicked me in the proverbial balls."

He sniggered. "You punched me in the literal face."

"Touché."

"You're here now. If you want to go off, go off, but I'm not falling out with you. If you can't be okay with me that's your problem." He stood to leave. I followed him to the door,

"Chibs."

He turned and accepted my hug.

"I'm not going to call you dad."

"Thank fuck for that." he said the same way he would say just about anything and with that, I knew we were okay. He had been right: what did the fact we shared blood change in our relationship?


	6. Chapter 6

I started to hate how oblivious I was to the inner workings and goings-on of SAMCRO around me. It was nice to be ignorant at first, I could get away with it being so new, but it was starting to feel like an old hat. I started asking often what gave people I served beer to long faces and hospital or jail spells as well as bruises and cuts. It was the first time I hesitated to ask when Juice and Chibs told me the bad news. There was something in the air with them, something devastating and black and I wasn't sure I could share their burden. But it was what I wanted. When they were done with what they had to say, they sat at the bar, glasses not sipped but nursed in their hands for a while before they downed every last drop. I kept the drink coming, it kept me from thinking too hard.

Donna was a small thing when I spotted her, tiny compared to Opie but anytime I saw them they looked happy. I heard snippets of talk that they weren't happy thanks to financial trouble but that seemed like nothing now. I had a bad feeling about the murder itself - something in my gut was turning and I wished I didn't know why. Over two days I kept a close eye on Jax: he was the first person to help me out in America without being bribed with cash or sex. I looked out for his needs when he was in the bar, it was the only way I could repay him, and usually he only needed a beer but I'd noticed a weight to his smile, especially when he fired it to Opie, and I noticed the looks he gave Tig' and Clay. Worse, I noticed Tig' and Clay's looks to Opie.

Sometimes you know exactly when to butt out. This was one of those times.

I turned up at Tig's door. His head was bruised and when he looked at me he knew I had either worked it out or I knew something. Still he tried to dissuade me;

"Are you looking for a good time sweetheart? Haven't you heard what's happened? Dumb bitch."

I smirked, laughing to myself quietly, "You idiot bastard. Convince me those bullets didn't come out of your hand."

I had him there - if I'd said 'tell me' he would not have told me, and if I had accused him he would have denied it. But to convince someone to be honest is a different kettle of fish. He sagged.

"Let me in, man." I pressed gently.

He stood aside but leaned on the door. I leaned on the back of his couch and waited, keeping eye contact.

"I'm trying not to make the wrong assumptions, Tig'. Please straighten the facts out for me."

He considered it before he sighed further, and I could see how much he didn't want to have to lie. He must have decided I was trustworthy, which was a nice feeling as he said, "I hate myself for it but I didn't know she was the one driving that truck."

I did something then I never thought I would do for Tig. The guy creeped me out like no one else I had met but if I was in a jam I was pretty sure he would fight my way out of it for me; for the club or whatever. I hugged Tig. "Shit happens." I said. "And life is shit. I'm not forgiving you but I'm not holding it against you either."

He held me tight in a non sexual fashion and again I felt like family. He cried a little and leaned back.

"Do you, uhm, do you want to stay for a little bit?"

"No," I declined softly, "it's late and I just need to be sure I'm right."

"Right…"

Silence hung in the air as I waited for him to explain. I gave in,

"Why, Tig? I'll take it to my grave, I'll lock it in the furthest corner of my mind but I can't put it to bed until I know."

He looked at me, his face hardening with incredulity. "You don't want to know."

"If you don't tell me now I've got to start asking people."

He looked at me knowingly, "Clay. You're playing a dangerous game."

I scoffed, "I'm not playing any games. I'm not a sweet butt, I've got no patch, and I need to keep big brother's eyes off me. I'm not telling anyone outside SAMCRO - or inside - anything they don't need to know."

He was getting to be his usual guarded self again, "You don't need to know."

"Maybe not in the grand scheme of things, but to make peace with the truth, I need to know."

He sighed. Looked around.

"Tomorrow we'll talk."

"We had better." I said and squeezed his shoulder before I left.

Tig avoided me like plague for days until Clay and Tig were in the meeting room for me. Tig had shook me awake and taken my phone off me. I got in with a serious bed head and yellow teeth.

Clay leaned forward in his chair.

"Opie was taken into custody."

"I know," I grumbled but he carried on,

"Opie got bugged and a chunk of his debts were paid off by the government. He was set up. We fell for it. Tig was going to take care of it, Donna was a terrible accident, I found out about Opie being set-up too late and only just in time to stop his kids being orphans. And now, there are three people alive who know this."

He slowly lost control of his temper as he spoke until his hand flew around my neck and I tried not to panic on the outside.

"It better stay that way."

"You're damn right." I said carefully. He let me go. I took that as my cue to leave and gladly did.


	7. Chapter 7

Bobby was getting out of jail and everyone was in high spirits. I had been thinking about it for a long time so when Clay walked in without anyone taking up his attention, I took my chance.

"I want a bike." I said to Clay as I set my beer down in front of him.

"What now?"

It was early afternoon and the club was empty save for myself, Prospect and the Almighty Chin.

"I want to buy a bike - I can't borrow someone else's' so I want my own."

"Chicks don't get bikes." he said dismissively.

"If you don't want to help me I'll go elsewhere, Clay."

That made him frustrated, "Why do you want a bike?"

"I like the noise they make, and way they look, and whenever I have to get onto the back of one I have to stop myself from wrestling with the driver just to have a shot."

"Can you even ride a bike?"

I smirked, "That's right, you haven't seen my record."

"Well you won't give me your name."

The Sons of Anarchy Redwood all arrived and I moved to the bar to start pulling out the usual orders for them. I was learning he Sons' had different divisions so to speak. I was in Redwood territory.

"Bones," Jax began as he took his beer bottle and sat on a stool, "I need you to watch Abel tonight."

"Forget it." I said quickly.

"What else you got going on?" he demanded, looking offended.

"I don't babysit."

"You do now."

"No."

"It's non negotiable."

"Jax, I'm going to assume you care about your son - so don't put him in my care."

Jax stood, "Is that a threat?"

Clay put his hand on Jax shoulder but he wasn't for standing down.

"It's advice, Jax," I explained carefully, "I'm clumsy, especially around things people care about like miniature versions of themselves. I won't look after someone's kid. I can't guarantee I wont fuck that up."

"What kind of bullshit is this?" Clay demanded of me.

"I can't look after a kid - I don't have a nurturing bone in my body." I pleaded, backing away and probably getting ready to run. Jax turned and said quietly to Clay,

"We need all the eyes we can get there tonight, mom's not in town, who can I ask last minute?"

Clay turned, "Ope, can your mom..."

Opie shook his head. "She has enough trouble with the kids right now."

Clay nodded, everyone was tip-toeing around Opie. Clay asked Bobby to hang back then turned to me.

"You get to take his place."

There was a mini uproar Clay shushed with a wave of his hand. "She's just a pair of eyes. She doesn't want to take care of one kid she can take care of one job."

No one was happy about it.

"Wear black." Clay ordered. "We leave at ten tonight."

I wasn't sure how to feel.

As Clay said, I was supposed to be watching. The car got hit before we could get into position though, and I was dragged off by three guys while everyone else fought their own battles.

I stood with blood on my hands, the air burning my lungs as I breathed, and the ringing of my ears after the gunshots. My clothes were ripped, muddy and bloody, but two guys were dead and the other was at Chib's feet. It was his gun that deafened me when he shot them all. All I did was keep them from raping me long enough to be rescued.

"Are you alright?" he said emotionlessly, like a professional. I knew he was bad news in his own way but that tone scared me.

I gave him the thumbs up. "I'm in one piece."

"Don't go anywhere."

I gave him more thumbs up. "I can do that."

He disappeared and I tried to process what had happened and how I felt about it. I was cut off when more shots rang out, shouts followed and I forgot to stay put. Whoever ran towards me was running from the Sons of Anarchy several yards down the road, shouting and running towards him with guns in their hands. He was headed towards me, and couldn't see me. I took a shoe that lay on the ground after my own scuffle, appeared from nowhere as far as the running guy was concerned and smacked him in the face with it. He went down and a clatter saw a gun at my feet. He scrambled for it and without thinking too much, if at all, I reached down, picked it up, pointed and pulled the trigger.

Brains scattered the road.

I didn't hang around to stare. I walked to the SOA, hands held palms forward up to my shoulders. Clay snatched away the gun and Chibs put his hands on my shoulders and stooped to get level with me.

"I told you to stay put." he spat.

"Right, I know, I forgot." I stammered.

"Get in the car."

With a shove, I did and I watched the men drag the bodies around. I spied the pick up truck that didn't belong to the SOA and the three bikes that didn't belong too in the rearview mirror. When the SOA piled into the car with me I saw it all go up in flames. I knew where the bodies had been dragged to.

Nobody spoke.


	8. Chapter 8

There was a knock at my door that woke me,

"Bones?" it was Gemma, "Can we talk?"

"It's open." I called as I threw back the covers and swung my feet onto the floor. There, I just leaned forward and rubbed my face. She entered and leaned against the door as it closed, arms folded and studying me.

"Are you okay?"

"With what?"

"Clay told me what happened."

I sighed before muttering, "I'm just glad I was a jinx there and not with your grandson in my care."

"He told me about that too." she said without laughing as I had intended her to, as she pulled up the chair and sat in it. "What's that all about?"

"Don't tell anybody," I leaned in and whispered the next part, "but kids scare me."

She laughed.

"I'm serious." I added monotonously, leaning back, "They're too fragile."

"They're not as weak as you think." she advised me, warming up from her icy caution.

"Well I'm not chancing them withstanding me."

She lit up a cigarette. I know I didn't own the room but I still found that kind of ruse. The woman was compulsively territorial: dear Gemma, I know I owe you and yours…

"But seriously," she breathed, " _are_ you okay? Death's a heavy burden to bear."

I sighed again. I'd been over this all night; been dreaming about what happened on repeat. "Honestly," I said quietly, "death happens. He was going for that gun and when he got it he was going to shoot me. I don't have a problem with it." I shrugged, "But maybe it hasn't hit me yet."

"Maybe it never will." she inhaled and gave me a levelling kind of look, like she suddenly respected me depending on my answer to her next question: "Can you live with that?"

I didn't even twitch, "I'll have to."

She puffed, studying me more. "You should've been born a man."

It was my turn to laugh, "I've heard that before."

"Come to dinner at my house tonight. If he'd gotten away that could have been real trouble for SAMCRO."

"I will." I smiled and she excused herself. I lay back into my sheets and waited for my alarm to wake me.

Dinner was a nice affair. I was expecting something more tense and intimate but it was relaxed, happy. The moment I walked in I was swept into the kitchen and handed vegetables and a knife. I chopped whatever was handed to me and it was taken away as I was chattered over. My head was pulled this way and that while the girls added make-up to my face while I peeled potatoes, my hair was tugged at and pinned into place, my top was cut and tied artistically and I laughed all the way through it. These were Old Ladies and CRO Eaters but that didn't make them bad people. They were friendly and hospitable and welcoming and when I got to the table Chibs got his arm around me and planted a kiss on my forehead. He gave me a bottle of beer and I watched people chatting around the table but not yet sitting down.

"I didn't want that for you kid. Are you okay?" he said so only I could hear.

"Getting there."

"You did the right thing, okay? Not just by the club but by yourself. Son of a bitch would have killed you." he accented each sentence with a squeeze of the arm around me.

"He got what was coming to him." I clarified.

"Aye, he did." He squeezed my shoulder. "And Bones,"

"Yeah?"

"What the fuck happened to your clothes?"

"Don't give her shit for our hard work." Gemma cautioned him as she passed.

I really hadn't paid any mind to what the result of all the pulling and pushing and pinning had done to my appearance so I slipped away to the bathroom to get a good look.

Midriff, hips, cleavage - oh my god! Cleavage! I was so red so fast my skin came out in blotches. This wasn't me - this wasn't who I was - and it certainly wasn't going to be me for the rest of the night! The woman I knew to be Tara poked her head in,

"Is everything okay, Bones?"

"You wouldn't happen to have like, a really baggy t-shirt on you, would you?"

"No." she smiled, stepping in, "I think you look really pretty."

I ignored that last part, "Gemma wouldn't have -"

"I doubt it, she likes her clothes nice and tight."

"Of course." I pulled at the remaining fabric of my top nervously.

"I can see if Jax has anything you can borrow?"

"Good God, please." I chirped, ever so grateful to be rescued. She smiled and exited. Expecting her to be the one to return, I pulled the top off to stop having to look at myself in it. Max poked his head in and an arm to toss me the t-shirt. I froze like a deer caught in the headlights.

"Sexy." he grinned and tossed the shirt before departing. My hand just happened to be in its way and it hung limply from there. I closed my eyes and sunk to the tiled floor in embarrassment. It took five minutes to pretend that hadn't happened before I could move to dress myself.

There were cries of protest from the women as I returned but I shrugged it off. I felt much better as Chibs leaned in and gripped my shoulder to say, "Good lass'."

As it was time to be seated, I took my place next to him and enjoyed the food, company, and the feeling I was welcome somewhere.


	9. Chapter 9

Bobby's home-coming party. It was different from all the other parties. Maybe because I was actually outside of the bar, talking to some Old Ladies and CRO Eaters instead of making small chat with bikers while I solely served, but then it might have been the anticipation of a Brother coming home.

It was soured for me when what I was told to be Nords appeared. They were obviously threatening the club, and from my stand point, I could only see it.

I felt metal in my hand. I was in a perfect position to shoot at the grey-scalped ape doing all the talking. What wasI thinking? I had no skill with a gun! I had one experience to my name and it was an act of self preservation - hell, I don't even think the adrenaline rush from that night had worn off yet! Who was this person in my head putting visions of a mercenary in there?

At last the act of shooting someone hit me in a big way and I needed to hide. The desire to flee from my thoughts was bone deep so I swiped a handful of pills and an unguarded bottle of bourbon from the party, which raged on outside my door while I lay, awake and helpless, on my bed. I felt anxious, like my soul would chose to leave my body. I needed to be alone until it passed. I needed to be numb.

I kept my fears to myself for a few days, still hoping they were a passing phase. My drug fuelled solo party gave me an almighty hangover which lasted days, so nobody thought anything of my quietness. Except Gemma.

I took my break outside the bar and perched on the wooden benches. I watched her walk over and enter the bar door, then shortly return for a cigarette of her own. I suspected she had had a fun night with Clay, so I didn't mean much when I commented,

"What's got you walking like you got fucked raw? Clay can't be that good can he?"

I expected some pingpong parle but her face lost colour and she looked more sick than feisty and I tried to recover from saying something horribly wrong. I closed the gap between us cautiously,

"Gemma did Clay?"

"No."

"Then why are you-"

"Shouldn't you be in the bar, Lassie?"

Oh very witty… That stung but I swallowed my pride and tried to appeal to something I recognised. "I have a bad feeling you've been through something I've been pretty close to."

Her eyes flickered to me and around the room, giving away the truth.

"I can't make you talk to me but I would be grateful if you did."

I hoped Gemma saw past my eagerness to help her, to my eagerness to have someone to talk to myself about shooting somebody. I'm sure it was different from her own problem, Hell, I hadn't expected her to have been raped! I thought attacked maybe, that'll rattle anyone enough, but I started to get mad at the people I suspected were responsible. Really mad.

I also understood why no one else seemed to know. She didn't say another word though, just walked past me like I hadn't said a thing. Fair enough, I suppose.

It was driving me crazy, my promise, in light of what I suspected happened to Gemma, "Legs crossed, job's a job, and I will mind my own, Boss-man." My legs were firmly crossed but that was of my own accord. The job wasn't a job anymore - I lived inside that bar, across from where they worked in the auto shop, in the same space as they held their occult-like club meetings. The job was now my life and I wasn't afraid of having shot somebody, or the unlikelihood of having to shoot somebody again… I was afraid of what happened to Gemma. No one wants to get attacked or raped and that stemmed from my sudden fear of being alone if and when I got cornered. When I shot that guy, I was not alone. But if I had been… I stifled these thoughts with another; 'why would someone attack me anyway?' but I still circled back to the start, over and over… Until I realised:

Oh yeah, because I work 24/7 in the bar where SAMCRO makes some of its most important decisions.

I couldn't 'mind my own' anymore. It scared me too much. What would I do if I said the wrong thing to the wrong person and I put everyone connected to SAMCRO at risk? I saw what the secret about Tig's part in Donna's death was doing to Opie and everyone else. I couldn't watch that if I was the cause. So a couple of days after speaking to Gemma, and failing to put my fears to bed, I cornered Clay as he sat at a table in the bar, paperwork scattered on top of it.

"I can't do this." I sighed as I plopped myself into the seat next to Clay. He barely twitched besides looking suddenly irate.

"Excuse me?"

"'Legs crossed, job's a job, and I will mind my own', I can't do it."

He just looked at me until I felt compelled to go on. I looked around. No one was close enough to pay attention. I started quietly, "I shot someone."

He sighed and looked around the room like he couldn't believe this extra slab of mash being added his plate. I carried on, "I don't lose sleep over it, Clay, and I don't blame you even though you put me in the situation to prove a point to me about my place as a bitch in this dog pack but I digress," I inhaled, "What I do lose sleep over is thinking that someday someone puts me into a difficult situation looking for information about your precious club." His eyes met mine, threatening me as though I had threatened him, so I continued to try and dispel his anger, "What happens when I say something seemingly innocent that has a domino effect that ends in this house? What happens when I see something I'm not supposed to and somebody asks and it's as simple as two people exchanging keys outside and it looks real bad but I don't know it? What happens if your law man walks in and manipulates me? I've never been manipulated before - I've never had to be manipulated… but I'm not blind."

I was panting a little and Clay was leaning forward, knowingly and sympathetically.

"A'right, a'right, calm down kid. You're getting worked up over nothing here, okay?"

"It's not nothing." I insisted. I paused for effect and to look around me to make sure no one was eaves-dropping. "I'm a sort of anarchist, but not a criminal. I can't protect myself - this club - if I'm in the dark. I don't want to dictate or butt-in. I just. Want. To know."

Suddenly Clay looked wearied to me. My heart was in my mouth for what he would say or do next - the guy scared me! I was learning that was smart on my part, because most of the people I was associated with were scary. He gathered his sheets and walked away. All I could do was sigh in defeat.


	10. Chapter 10

I was setting the bar up for the day, stocking shelves and putting the glass on its racks. I did everything a little more slowly since my apparent defeat in convincing the club president to let me in. It was arrogant, I knew, but I'm not the kind of girl who sits on the sides. I never have been. I don't run in face-first or anything, but I can't just _let_ things happen. I need some control. So, without control, my zeal at the bar suffered. And yet, on this Californian day, Clay appeared in the doorway to the bar, sunlight streaming in from behind him and turning his figure into a silhouette. I was on my own in there so I knew he was addressing me when he said,

"Come on."

I was worried to start, but my head filled up with fantasies of being handed some kind of ledger or journal of events that could straighten out the weightless feathers of knowledge blowing around in my memory. I was conjuring a hundred happy little scenarios as I followed across the yard to the auto shop. He patted a busted bike and slowed, turning to me,

"You fix her up, learn her ins and outs and you can have her."

I was stunned, "M-me?"

"There's nobody else here."

I looked around and then cringed. I walked carefully to crouch at the bike, staring at the mysterious mechanics and… stuff, inside. I wanted to ask a million childish questions but I was alone with Clay and he was offering me my own bike - girls generally don't get bikes, they saddle up behind a Brother. What did he want in return? I stood and put my hands in my pockets, hunching over to suppress the gravity defying nature of my chest, altering my posture to match his better and asked casually,

"How much?" hiding the suspicion the price went beyond dollar.

"Free." My heart sped to a girlish flutter of desire for approval and praise. "The labour's all you though. Prospect will give you a hand so you don't completely screw it up but I better not see him doing any of the work on your bike."

I was doing a very uncool dance inside. I felt like I was _in_. I felt like Clay wanted me to stay where I was and to stay separate from the norm. I fell like he had _heard_ me and not only that, answered me. Sure it wasn't exactly what I had asked for, but it was close. I was giddy and I managed to smile cooly and shake his hand without jumping into his arms.

"A bike?" Chibs asked as he approached me in the garage. I was sweating in the heat, covered in grease and other bike-necessary ingredients. I had rolled up my short-sleeves over my shoulders, tied my t-shirt into a knot behind my back, tamed my mane of dreads in a black bandana and thanked god I'd worn lighter, looser jeans than all the others.

"I know." I gushed, stepping away to see my handy work. I was just cleaning but I was following Half-Sack's instructions very carefully.

"You'll kill yourself on that." he said with humour.

I punched his arm, "If I do I want that on my epitaph: Death by pretty motorbike."

He laughed. "I should have known you'd be on one of these soon enough. Mind you, I expected it to be a theft I'd have to run you down on."

"Did I spoil the fun?" I teased.

"Now you have to get it running first."

"That's the plan."

"Do you know anything about motors?"

"Not a thing." I grinned, shaking my head. I expected him to be all uncle-y - or fatherly - and provide me with some wisdom and help but instead, he laughed and departed. It wasn't wholly derisive when he did laugh, so I didn't take it to heart like I could have. Instead, I looked at the rusty old thing and promised it I'd get it to run. I set to work and kept working into the night, cleaning and cleaning, and shocked by how much this thing needed cleaning.

I should have went home early. I'd have seen it coming then; the set up. Juice and Tig grabbed me by each arm and dragged me - heels dragging on the floor and all - as Clay held down the button on the shutters. The auto shop has one of those car-elevators for really seeing under the cars. I was chained to that, arms splayed so Clay could let me hang and make clear a few things.

"We're not sexist in the club." he said taking a seat on a chair he'd dragged from his office. "We're protective. Brothers protect the family from the outside, and the old ladies keep it strong from the inside. CROeaters, they're like Prospects: you've gotta prove your worth to the family."

I lifted my chin in answer.

"How are your arms holding up?"

They were aching and inching their way closer to outright pain holding up my weight. I thought about acting tough about it but I wanted Clay to see I was no enemy. "Sore."

"Sore," he repeated, "That's good. We don't usually treat our guests like this, in fact we reserve this kind of treatment for outright enemies and traitors."

"What makes me so special?"

"Well you seem to think you're special. Wanting a bike… wanting to know things… You're just a little girl. A naive little girl."

"Enlighten me." I smiled.

"With a big mouth."

"Do I fuck." I spat, my accent thickening with rage and discomfort.

"Clay!" it was Chibs. I tried to ignore him. "What is this bullshit?" He demanded, as Juice moved to keep him at bay for the next part. He shouted for my freedom. Tig looked to Clay as he slapped my exposed flesh with his ringed fingers. I seethed but I didn't shout out.

When he drew blood he paused and regarded me, rubbing his fingers, "She's tough."

Clay met his eyes and nodded. Ting produced a knife and Chibs went nuts. Juice struck him so hard in the solar plexus he went down. Having done nothing to merit this torture I decided - so that I didn't panic and lose my shit completely - that this was a test. I was not about to get hurt badly. Nothing would be as bad as I imagined it could be. I knew these people. Perhaps not intimately well, but I didn't get any real blood-lust vibes from any of them. A willingness to kill, sure, that was frightening, but they were not barbarians.

Tig threatened me a few times, held the knife different places and talked through some suggestions he had in mind. He even nicked me on the leg. It was nothing - even though I imagined the jeans being caked in dirty oil and soaking deadly poison into my skin…

I just seethed some more.

I yelled out when he held the hot pokers over my skin. He never pressed the iron to my skin but it was so close I squirmed and yelped. By this point I had a bigger audience. Jax and Piney stood to the side, arms folded, bewildered expressions on their faces.

As I started to consider voicing some protest that I knew I couldn't say anything. I knew something they didn't and if I wanted to be anyone's confident I couldn't break there, in front of them. I found peace with the truth quickly as they watched. I knew the truth and I knew the lie and the peace for me lay in the fact that the line was drawn. I don't cross lines I draw. One day it will probably get me killed but I'm stubbornly proud of being trustworthy.

Tig's zip came down and at last I felt I was free to do something about it. I pooled all of my strength into my stomach, into my abdomen, coiled to lift my legs and kicked him across the head so hard I hurt my leg doing it. He tumbled to the ground and Chibs started really losing the rag.

"A'right, a'right," Clay agreed to everyone, "None of that shit." he regarded me for a beat. "Let her down."

Clay himself caught me when Tig unchained me.

"Do you still want this?" he said quietly in my ear. I nodded because what were my other options? Flee and pray I could find my feet somewhere else? I practically sold my body to get where I was. Stay and stick my tail between my legs to ultimately go insane with the worry of not-knowing? I didn't just want this. I needed it.

Chibs shoved Clay before he helped me to my room where I lay down and dragged the covers around me.

"What did you do?" he begged of me.

I lie quick when I have to, "I think I said something wrong today."

"Like what?"

"I don't know."

"How can you not know?"

"I dismissed it; forgot about it."

"Something _that_ bad? I don't believe it."

"Believe it."

"I should take you to hospital."

"For what?"

"Internal bleeding. Fucking brain damage."

"Can I sleep first?"

He jerked my head back to look at him and open my eyes, "You might not wake up after."

"And how do I explain this mess?" I indicated my general body.

He sighed.

"There's one option, and we're taking it."

I trudged through the doors of A & E alone after he dropped me off. I held my wrists to the administrating nurse and said,

"I was hung and tortured. Help me out?"

She set about sorting me out quickly. I was seen to fast, even kept in over night for observation and test - head scans, police report and all.

I still didn't know the full story but I was confident I'd soon know so I played along.


End file.
